Nightmares
by Mettemorphose
Summary: "Please call me either Effie or miss Trinket, Trinks sounds like some name of one of your liquors," You are one of my liquors, the strongest one, the one who gets me most drunk in the shortest amount of time, Haymitch wanted to tell her.


**Author's note: One shot, but I can see this going further, if you want it to, please leave some prompts or ideas in a review :) **

* * *

He broke her arm once during one of these fights. Afterwards she'd been scared of going near him when he was this drunk - well, she was usually afraid to be alone with him no matter what. The fright in her eyes made him want to drink even more, because of the realization that he was no more man than the men he warned and scolded her about. She wasn't dating any mobs or criminals, just too high class politicians - he guessed you could discuss letting them off the description as criminals. Effie knew little of politics, she barely knew how the Games were put together and she'd worked closely with it for 4 years. 4 really long years in Haymitch's life. "You're hurting me! Haymitch!" The fights. Sometimes they were just caught dead in them. He felt he watched the entire scene floating above it as a ghost. Her standing, mascara making a mess of her face with tears and her wig hanging dangerously low, showing her light blonde natural hairline. Him gripping her upper arm so hard, he'd be sure to leave a bruise for Seneca to see whenever she climbed into his bed again.

"So you're going?" He heard himself say, not feeling, but _seeing_ as his touch got even rougher, pulling her closer. Her arm in a cast the next day, her shying away every time he was near her. That was the first time he'd ever hurt Effie Trinket. But this was now and here, he wasn't hurting her as much as he was trying to make her realize something he dared not say. That he didn't want her to warm Seneca's bed, because... Well, not because he wanted her to warm his, but... His thoughts stopped when her puffy eyes sent him a look of disgust.

"I can do whatever I want, Haymitch, ouch!" she cried when he let go and the relieved pressure made her arm throb madly with pain.

"It's not like you usually care," she ran her delicate fingers over the bruise, only resulting in further grimaces if pain on her face. She looked at him for a long time. Never really judging him for what he did to her. Blaming the inner demons left in him from the games and the long years of alcohol abuse.

"I care!" Haymitch objected, but didn't mean to.

"No, now… Please, Haymitch, I have to… Fix myself before Senec-"

"No!" Why didn't she understand? That Seneca didn't deserve her at all. Seneca was nothing but a pig, just wanting to fuck her.

"Haymitch, don't make this into some sort of personal vendetta, just because you hate me, you don't have to ruin my entire life," she said and stepped back from him, bringing her hand to her face to access the damage done to her make-up. He was silenced by her words, trying to figure out how to tell her that he didn't hate her, without letting off too much of a confession. When she was this mad she reminded him that he wasn't good with words, with actions. He'd made her _believe_ that he hated her, that he detested everything about her. Truth was that he wanted nothing more than being able to tell her a compliment and not get slapped for it. She never would believe him if he told her how beautiful he thought he was. She'd take as yet another drunken, sarcastic remark and would probably be hurt by it.

"I'm not…" he started stuttering over the words. He could use a drink, his hands trembling with emotion.

"What, Haymitch?" Why did she use his name so often? It was like she had to keep reminding herself who she was talking to.

"I'm not… I don't _hate_ you, Trinks," Bam! He was back in his own body, suddenly feeling the unwilling emotions of regret. He shouldn't be talking to her this way. He should just push her away as always, leave her to put on a new layer of make-up and be on her merry way to Seneca's quarters.

"Then what word would you use for it? God Haymitch, I can't stand being around you. I thought that maybe you'd come around at some point, but there's only so much I can take. You, stepping all over me all the time," He was almost physically hurt by her words. It was never supposed to go this way.

"Trinks, I'm…"

"Please call me either Effie or miss Trinket, Trinks sounds like some name of one of your liquors,"

_You _are _one of my liquors, the strongest one, the one who gets me most drunk in the shortest amount of time,_ Haymitch wanted to tell her.

"I'm sorry," He was so confused. Well, not that he didn't know what was going on, but he felt he was getting dangerously close to telling her things he didn't want her to know about just yet. Or ever.

"You have _no_ idea how to treat a human being, Haymitch," she said as her eyes narrowed to slits, "when I first met you I actually liked you, found you funny if not a bit reckless,"

"I –"

"No, just … just don't talk to me unless you're going to talk to me about the games. I can't stand anymore of your insults," Her eyes were wet again with tears and Haymitch felt a stab in his heart. She really meant it this time. She was at the edge. The brink of breakdown. He could have kicked himself.

"Trinks… et, Trinket, I never …" He fucked up her name. Trinks just came to him so easily.

"Go back to drinking," Effie told him and turned around only showing him her back and the wig, which was still falling off.

"District men…" He heard her mutter to herself under her breath while she left him.

* * *

He followed her closely with his eyes, the way her hands automatically and mechanically aided in hiding her face behind thick layers of foundation and eye shadows. He didn't see her as often anymore. After their last fight she didn't stay around in the centre, at least not in the part he was in. Something in him wanted to talk to her and apologize, but he was too scared to face her. He'd have to explain himself.

"Haymitch, could you please be sweet and get me a glass of water?" A truce? Her words rang through him. He nodded and got up from his slumped position on the sofa and collected a long stranded glass of water from the machine. He popped in a few ice cubes and a frozen grape. He always saw _her_ doing that, when she fixed her own drinks on the train. He realized he'd never seen her drink alcohol. Slowly he turned back to her with the glass held too tightly in his hand.

"Here you go,"

"Thank you, Haymitch," she said and smiled at him. A smile that only reached her eyes for a short time before her lips parted again.

"He broke up with me," she said. The bizarre change in conversation surprised him and he didn't let go of the drink, her hand still grazing his slightly as their touches met on the long steam of the crystal glass.

"I'm … Sorry?"

"No you're not," she reminded him. She gently tugged the glass away from him and took a sip. How she managed not to get her bright red lipstick stuck on the edge was a mystery to him. Would it stick to his lips if he kissed her?

"I guess," he confessed trying to kick out the mental image of kissing her soft lips.

"He broke a promise, I might have yelled a bit at him,"

"Why are you telling me this, princess?"

She looked annoyed at him with the name-calling, but seemed to decide not to mind.

"Because I don't want you wondering, why I'll be staying here again," she blushed slightly.

"Wouldn't even notice,"

"I know," she sighed, "I forgot you didn't care,"

But Haymitch did care. All at one time he felt angry with Seneca for breaking her heart and happy that she was no longer with him. Not that he had a chance.

"Are you okay?" He took a plunge and asked. It might sound like he was just trying way too hard to get off easy on an argument, but in reality he really wanted to know.

"Why are you asking?" she asked suspiciously.

"Because … You look so sad," he admitted. He could always blame the alcohol, though he wasn't as drunk as he'd like to be right now.

She shook her head. Whether it was to mute him or to answer his question he didn't know, but it definitely ended the conversation.

"I need to get this done, so we can meet up with the sponsors," Effie said and took another sip of the water, her tongue catching the few drops landing on her lips. She turned back to the mirror and went back to work. Haymitch didn't like the make-up, but he couldn't deny that it took some extent of talent and commitment for her to go through that every day.

"Effs, I'm …" He started a sentence, but she almost killed him looking at her.

"Effie," she corrected him.

"Sorry," He walked away. Leaving her guessing whatever he wanted to tell her. He didn't even know himself. He felt somehow guilty about her break-up, though none of it _could_ be his fault. He hoped her lipstick stuck to Seneca's lips. Hoped it made him look like the coward gamemaker he was.

* * *

"I love you," he said to her. She looked at him and embraced him tightly, crying tears of happiness.

"I love you too, Haymitch," she said with such passion in her Capitol voice he didn't even know what to do with himself. She kissed him deeply and when she finally pulled away she looked at him with her soft, blue eyes. Her face turned grim dark. Blood began running down her cheeks from her eyes. She opened her mouth, not to kiss him again, but to let out an agonizing scream. The scream of his former girlfriend, killed by the Capitol. The scream mixed with the screams Haymitch had heard from the escort, when he grabbed her a bit too tightly – or that one time when he pulled her arm so hard he'd broken it. He realized he was screaming too. The now deadly pale Effie in front of him was mouthing words to him: "Your fault, don't go near me, you're worthless, not good enough," in a chaos of voices, not belonging to her.

He woke up. Sweat and probably tears too dampening his skin. At first he didn't think the nightmare was over, for there she was again. Effie peeking through his door.

"Are you alright, Haymitch? You were screaming," she said with purebred concern in her voice.

"Nightmares," he said and tried to regain control of his breathing. He reached out to find there was no bottle on his bedside table. There was nothing to calm him down.

"About what?"

"Nosy, princess, are you?" he said flushing with embarrassment when the first part of his dream slowly returned to him. He begged that she couldn't see his red face in the dim light.

"I've never heard you scream so loud," she noted and went further into his room, making sure not to step in any of his clothes or empty bottles scattered over the floor.

"Leave me alone," Haymitch asked her.

"Are you sure you're okay? You're crying, Haymitch," she said to him. The sympathy in her voice barely covered by her Capitol accent, though it sounded like she tried.

"I'm …" His voice broke. He wanted her to leave. He felt humiliated. She shouldn't see him like this.

"I'll make you some tea if you want," she suggested suddenly sitting down on the edge of his bed. He jerked involuntarily. When he fantasized about her in his bed it wasn't like this. He shrugged her off.

"Why are you up, what time is it?"

"Five in the morning," Effie told him "I sleep lightly, you scared me,"

"Sorry,"

"I'll fix you that tea, unless you want to go back to sleep?"

"Don't think I can, princess," He whispered softly to her, making her eyes gleam with irritation. She rose from his bed and tripped back out. A moment later he followed her after putting on a fresher shirt and drying his body with the old one. The smell of nice calming tea was actually for once welcomed, though he usually detested the stuff. It didn't do anything for him.

Punching bag, that's what his stomach felt like when he saw her in the light. With her dead face still in fresh memory from his dream she looked ten times better, ten times more _alive._ Her hair was a bit messy and she wasn't wearing make-up. Haymitch had seen her like this before, but she had never been comfortable, for the previous times where he had, it had been _him_ breaking into _her_ room at night, yelling at her for doing something.

"Is there anything else I can do to help?" she asked putting down a cup of sweetened tea in front of him. He didn't take sugar, but there was no use in telling her that now.

He shook his head. Her kindness made him want to cry even more. He thought of what he'd have done if he heard her screaming her lungs out at night. Put a pillow over his head to drown out the sound? Probably.

"It's gotten worse, hasn't it?" she continued when he didn't say anything. This time he nodded.

"I could refer you to a therapist, you'd have to stay here a bit longer, but if I go through some channels I could make it seem you couldn't do your job in your condition," she said. He couldn't form words so once again he just shook his head. Therapy wouldn't help this. Not when she was around him all the time. Not when the Capitol didn't exactly love him.

"Then what about me? Tell me what you're worried about. You know, I can feel it when you're awake too. You aren't usually this tense,"

"I'm just too sober, sweetheart, that's all,"

"You shouldn't be drinking in the first place," Effie reminded him. She gave him a pat on the cheek and looked towards the rooms where their tributes slept soundly before their interviews tomorrow. Her eyes flickered back to him and a smile crept to her face. She looked stunning.

"You shouldn't be caring," he said roughly to her.

"Hard not to, Haymitch," she said with a seriousness to her voice, that almost convinced him she meant it. The smile stayed on her face as she drank from her own cup of tea. She should be in bed.

"Why?"

"Because I usually care when some one screams my name in their sleep," she said and put the cup down. Haymitch felt some one punch him in his face and he tried desperately to swipe himself of all emotion, so he wouldn't blush as badly as he did now, but it was of no use. He looked away from her, still red as a tomato.

"What were you dreaming about?" she asked again.

"You died," he admitted. Maybe that reply would satisfy her, maybe she would believe he just had some compassion and was scared of death or something. She seemed surprised at his reply. Maybe she'd thought she was the bad guy in his dreams.

"I … died?" she asked and clicked her long, crystal adorned nails on the cup a few times.

"Yeah, you were telling me how much you … something, and then you started bleeding," Haymitch's tongue slipped. He saved it though, he thought. No use telling Effie Trinket about her confessions of love in his sleep.

"How strange," Effie said with wide eyes. He nodded to escape from having to explain further.

"I hope you get rid of those dreams, Haymitch, I truly do," she told him and tried her best at a reassuring smile, though he could see she was flustered and blushing. At least they had _that_ in common right now.

* * *

Her hopes were in vain. The dreams kept nagging him, now showing him more and more sickly sweet romantic scenes and more and more gory ends for the young, bubbly escort. The worst ones were where he killed her himself, not able to wake up and stop it, but visualizing silently going down the corridor to her room with his knife drawn. Seeing her beg and beg for her life, while screaming about how much she loved him. Stabbing her. He could sometimes still feel the blood on his hands when he woke up. He drank more to even out the feelings. It didn't work in his favour.

Even when their tributes died and he went back home to twelve, they kept coming back. The nightmares and without her waking him up, making him tea or sometimes humiliatingly stroking his hair until he fell back asleep they came with a force he never knew was possible. He sometimes woke up having hurt himself flailing the knife he slept with or he woke up with a sore throat from screaming, which made the alcohol burn on the way down.

"Of course you can call me, Haymitch, I'm just… I didn't know you had your phone fixed," Effie sounded tired.

"What did you want?" she asked more politely.

"I… I don't know, Trinks, I just keep…" He didn't know what to say to her without sounding like either a creepy pervert or someone madly in love with her. _I keep dreaming about you. I kill you in several of these dreams! _He wasn't about to tell her just that.

"Are you _still_ having those dreams?"

He broke down. It wasn't supposed to happen; he just wanted to hear her voice to be sure she was okay. Not that he thought anything in his dreams actually happened, but tonight they'd been so real, he couldn't face not knowing if she was doing okay. He cried into the phone with her trying to make out the words he said to her on the other end, soothing him with her own soft voice.

"Haymitch, Haymitch… Mitch, ssh, it's okay, it's just dreams. Listen, I'm not dead, the most dramatic thing that happened to me today was that I stubbed my toe," she laughed a bit, her reserved laughter sounding hauntingly eerie over the phone. His face grew red. How could he ever face her again after this? He hung up without saying goodbye. When everything around him grew so silent he could only hear his own breathing, he contemplated calling her again to say sorry for hanging up so abruptly but then he realized – she'd understand, she always did. After the nightmares had started she'd let him off easier and easier. She rarely even yelled at him anymore. The following night he dreamt of her, standing in the meadow. No make-up her hair flowing loose, a bit longer than it actually was. She called out his name playfully and ran away from him. Barefooted. He couldn't catch her and not long after a hovercraft appeared. He screamed for her to be careful, but she just stopped and looked at him with sadness embedded in her big blue eyes. Then the hovercraft threw the bomb.

* * *

"Aw, come on Effie, you know what's good for you," Haymitch eavesdropped. The man talking to Effie had come to the training centre and somehow he was let in. Not many people had that kind of power.

"Yes, Rex, and you're not part of it," she said with her tiny insecure voice. Haymitch saw her stumble back from him and reach out for something to hold on to. Something to fight him with. It was like watching one of their own fights, only Haymitch wasn't as well dressed as the man. And Haymitch would have already grabbed her in impatience. There was something else about this man's use of violence though. He forced his words into tiny knives, which seemed to hit Effie everywhere as he talked.

"Of course I am," Rex said disarmingly.

"I already have someone," Effie lied and she fell to the floor when Rex smacked his hand to her face. Haymitch felt a sour taste in his mouth when he realized that he too had done that to Effie and worse. But he couldn't just let her lie there and take whatever this man had in store for her.

"Who?" Rex yelled "Who is crazy enough to want your charades? Back to Seneca are you?" he kicked her as Haymitch quickly pulled him away. Rex hadn't seen him coming, but when he got a look at the mentor he began laughing hysterically.

"Him? Oh, Euphemia Trinket, you are a slut," he spat on her. Haymitch tried his best escorting him to the door. Tried his best resisting the urge to beat him up until he couldn't talk or move.

"Yes!" Effie suddenly said, "Yes, Rex, are you jealous because you don't have someone you love?" she yelled back at him. She was still sitting on the floor, her head ringing from pain, but her words had left both Rex and Haymitch speechless. For a second he also stopped in his resist of Haymitch's tight grip. Effie's scared look and her begging eyes made him finish what he started and soon the only sound in the room, was that of the elevator descending with Rex inside.

"Who was that?" Haymitch asked.

"Marco Rexilius," Effie replied.

"That guy from the commercials?" Haymitch remembered seeing a tv-show where they joked about the 'Marco Polo' of commercials and that man being there.

"Yeah… I went out with him once. He got quite vulgar," Effie said blushing to match the bruise on her cheek.

"Well, he's gone now. Are you okay?" He sat down next to her, their backs supported by the couch. She looked at him.

"Thank you Haymitch,"

"Don't mention it, if somebody's slapping you around it's gotta be me," he said bitterly.

"You've become much nicer to me than you used to be," she said to him "sometimes I even look forward to your company,"

_I long for yours, _Haymitch thought.

"Yeah, I guess I got used to you," he said instead.

This wasn't a dream. It was really her soft lips against his. It didn't last long, but it wasn't just a peck on the lips. It was a full-force kiss.

"Thank you Haymitch," she repeated afterwards smiling a bit embarrassed. He was convinced she wasn't talking about Rex anymore. He cupped her unbruised cheek in his hand and helped himself to another kiss, his stomach churning with excitement.

That night he slept without nightmares.


End file.
